Populate and Perish
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Numbers always played a role in war. But they were nothing compared to the strength of conviction.


" _Quantity has a quality all its own"_

Thomas A. Callaghan Jr

* * *

 **Populate and Perish**

Half of his people went one way. The other half went the other. Every time they passed the one on the throne, down one of the two paths in the Whispering Wood (the only forest left on the continent), they soon passed out of Shal's field of view. None could travel both. None made any exclamation if they were alone. Some of the g'hons cried and wept as a child went down one path, and a parent the other. Fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, brothers and sisters – every combination there was.

He had the benefit of being alone. Whatever family he had had been lost in the war with the supmet five years prior. He knew, as he kept his gaze on the one of the throne, that if he was to fall, none would be there to remember or mourn him. If he were to die (and such was the nature of the universe that he would die eventually), he could go unsung, unloved, unremembered. Five years ago, such a thought would have terrified him. Now, as Kalv fell to the invaders of gold and grey, it was somewhat liberating…even if liberation was becoming an ever distant dream.

The invaders of gold and grey swept across the planet. None had been able to stop them. They ruled the skies above the world, cutting off access to the stars, and even the sight of them. The land was their domain, able to sow the soil with the bodies of the dead, and reap the whirlwind as it spread across the world. The seas were likewise no escape, as the blood of those who tried to flee ended up mixing with water Ever upward, had the g'hons looked. Not down to the murky depths of their homeworld. The stars were their destination. Five years ago, the stars had been their triumph. And now? Now Shal was marching in a column of the damned, his fighter shot down by the invaders. He'd survived. The others hadn't. He'd joined the line that had stretched for miles. And in a but a word, the invaders had given him a single order – "march."

It was a less complicated order than what he was used to. When the invaders of gold and grey had come, orders were complex and intricate. In days, the orders had changed to nothing but "fight." Try anything, do anything.

 _Anything._

He pretended to stumble – none of those in gold gave him a glance, which was as well, as he was able to retrieve his knife from his boot. The one on the throne, the one in gold – he had little illusion as to his chances of success. He didn't even know why the one on the throne was there – there was no judgement, the line just diverged down the two paths regardless. Still, if the leader of the invaders was there, sticking his neck out to a horde of people who wanted to kill him, then who was he to complain? Either way, he'd be dead in less than a minute. Only question was whether he would take the one on the throne with him.

He was nearly there. The g'hon ahead of him was sent down the right – no wails, no cries, just the quiet resignation of one walking down the right path. Thus, Shal was broght before the one on the throne. His eyes met those of the invader. The devil. The damned. The one whose eyes met his with…what, he wondered? Not contempt. Not hatred. Not even pity. Just…acknowledgement, he supposed. The acknowledgement that the one before him simply existed.

Shal, the one before the one on the throne, cared nothing for acknowledgement. He was content in the lack of acknowledgement. He was content, as he lunged towards the one on the throne, that it would all be over soon.

The blade cut through the air…and nothing else. With speed belying the throne-dweller's size, Shal's arm was grabbed. He screamed as the giant's hand crushed his bones. More screams and shouts followed as the g'hons either moved to behold the situation, or tried to run. The golden legionaries moved, rounding them up as the shepherd might tend to unruly v'loo.

"Damn you!" Shel cried. "Damn you!"

The giant sighed. "Such a shame. You would have gone down the left path."

Then the giant head butted him.

And Shal passed out.

* * *

When he awoke, he knew he wasn't dead.

Not that he was sure how he knew that – he'd never been dead before, so who was he to say what being dead felt like? Still, he knew…alright, doubted, that he was dead. If he was, being dead felt awfully similar to being alive. His head ached. His right arm hung limp, useless. Using his left to steady himself, he was able to get up from the floor and look around.

"Where am I?" he asked.

He immediately felt like kicking himself afterwards. Who the hells was going to answer that question? The question was valid, true, but it wasn't the kind of question one vocalized. Still, if he had to guess, he was in space – he could feel the slightly lower gravity. He could, as he leant back down on the ground, feel the 'hum' of the ship. And he'd been in space before five years ago, when the g'hon had moved on the supmet. But this wasn't a supmet or g'hon ship. Looking at the walls, he was reminded of a cave. Both in its structure, and its sense of age.

Oh, and he was in a cell. That much was obvious as well. There was no way out, no way in. Nothing but the door that hissed open, causing him to spin around in surprise. To force himself to stand his ground as the giant, the same one he'd seen on the throne, walked into the room. Behind him was another figure that remained in the gloom, but Shal couldn't make him out. All three of his eyes were on the giant.

"My children ask why you're still alive," the giant said. "After all, a father can only tend to so many."

"Wh…what?" Shal asked.

"But then, of all those who travelled to the divergence, only you sought to break with my covenant." The giant held out two hands. "Life," he said, looking at his left. "Death," he said. looking to the right." He lowered them both. "You were travelling down the path that would have saved you and yet you chose death."

"I…"

"Which brings us to the question of your next few choices." The giant sat down on the ground, from an extension of the rock – even sitting, he was at least two feet taller than Shal. "Speak," the giant said. "Why choose?"

Shal cleared his throat. The giant was obviously insane, but maybe, just maybe, he could use that to his advantage. "I didn't know which path would lead where."

"Indeed." The giant chuckled. "I never let the peoples of this universe know which path leads where." He gestured up towards the ceiling. "Death, fate…impartial. Or they are meant to be. Even I cannot claim to be above whim and foibles. Which is why you're here, by the way."

Shal said nothing.

"And yet, the same choices are always made," the giant said. "Every species, on some level, knows they are walking down the wrong path, yet none ever see fit to turn around and choose correctly." He held out his hands again. "Life. Death. Always, death is chosen. Always. Even when it seems to be the path of life, it becomes clear before the path's end that death is its true name. And yet, none turn back." He leant forward. "Why is that, child of Kalv? Eleven billion of you, and none among you turned back?"

Shal said nothing. He had no idea what the giant was talking about.

"Anything?" the giant asked. "I've seen many worlds and many peoples. The best of them offer answers. Never satisfactory ones of course – a hundred times a hundred worlds, and none of them ever have…" He sighed, clicking his oversized fingers. "…have the answer."

"You're insane," Shal whispered.

The giant chuckled. "I've been called that on more worlds than you can count." He got to his feet. "Well, what of it?" He got to his feet and began pacing around the room, a hand to his chin. "And yet, one must ask…am I wrong?" He looked at Shal. "I know of your people. I know of the supmet, and above all, of the war between you two." He held up his hands again. "Kalv, with a population of eleven billion." He looked to the other. "Belel, with a population of five billion. Both in the same star system, both in the habitable zone, both in competition with each other. Belel and the supmet had superior technology, but you…" He chuckled. "You had numbers. "You outnumbered them two to one. You slaughtered them."

"We didn't-"

"You slaughtered them and I watched," the giant said. "Your people call me monster, but you…you were not satisfied with half their number. You were not satisfied with three quarters of their number. No. By the time the dust settled, four out of every five sepmets were dead, and you had taken their world and its riches as your own."

Shal said nothing. It was true, of course. But what of it? The sepmet were an ugly people that had fought and lost. They weren't g'hon. That was the rub of it.

"Weight of numbers," the giant said – by this point, Shal could swear he was talking to himself. "The solution to the problem…if only in every hundred there is an exception, if only in every thousand a hero, if only in every million there is a would-be god…" He looked at Shal. "Populate or perish – is that true, son of Kalv? Are numbers the source of victory and power?" He took a step forward. "My truth, my belief, is that the opposite is true – populate _and_ perish." He knelt down. "Do you have the answers, son of Kalv? Can the many solve the problem of the many, or shall the answer come from the few?"

Shal said nothing.

"Speak, and I shall consider it."

Shal said nothing.

"Speak!" the giant yelled.

Shal, after a moment's hesitation, spat at him. The spit landed on his armour. The giant took a moment to look at the globule, as it made its way down the shining surface to the stone floor below.

"None ever go for the head," he sighed. He looked at Shal. "No answer, I suppose? You breed so you win. You kill everything on your world in the process." He got to his feet. "Even after the defeat of your warriors and the balancing of your world, there are four billion g'hon left."

Shal staggered backwards, feeling ill. _Seven billion…_

"And less than a billion sepmet," he sighed. "I've spared them – for now. Time will tell what path they choose. And your race, if nothing else, has almost made me reconsider the idea of balance. Is it just by number, or is it in proportion to-"

"You're a monster," Shal whispered.

The giant looked at him.

"You're a monster," he said.

"I am, son of Kalv, I am. That is a truth spoken by all in the galaxy, and I do not deny it."

"You're a monster, and a murderer, and-"

" **No!"**

The giant hit him with his hand, sending Shal flying across the room. He would have screamed, but his ribs were broken. Blood trickled out of his mouth, the blue liquid dribbling onto the floor. He was barely even aware of the giant walking over towards him, his footsteps echoing like that of an angry god. Barely aware of the giant grabbing him by the shoulder, crushing it.

"Not a murderer," the giant whispered. "Never a murderer."

Shal was vaguely aware of being dragged across the room.

"No answers," the giant said. "But balance at least."

Vaguely aware of being dropped in front of the figure.

"Have your fun Gamora."

Vaguely aware of the touch of the blade at his throat.

"I'm sorry. I'll make this quick."

Barely aware of whispered words before the steel cut his flesh, ending it all. Ending the path.

And at last, finally, knowing what death was like.

Bliss.


End file.
